


Four times Brad and Claire kissed in secret, and one time they didn’t

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF
Genre: 5 Times, Behind the Scenes, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: Pretty much what it says on the tin!
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Four times Brad and Claire kissed in secret, and one time they didn’t

**Author's Note:**

  * For [40millionyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/40millionyears/gifts).



> For the purposes of this fic we’re pretending neither Brad nor Claire have IRL partners.

**1.**  


It happens in a blur, the first time. They’re not supposed to do this at work - or do this at all, really - but then Brad goes into the fridge and Vinny is behind him, holding the camera, and Delaney is leaving, brushing against Brad’s shoulder, holding a box of raw chicken livers, bumping into Vinny on the way out. For just a moment, Brad sees Claire standing in the back of the fridge, bent over some overnight dough, and the camera can’t see their faces.

Brad leans down just as Claire is straightening up, their bodies suddenly awkward in the small space, and kisses her, briefly, on the lips, like there isn’t anything to it. Claire’s lips press against his and when they pull away he can see that sparkle in Claire’s eyes, the ones she gets when she’s trying to keep herself from doing something silly like smiling.

“OK, Vinny, move along right up in here,” Brad says, as the camera and Delaney finally clear each other. “Take a looksie at what we got here,” he says, pulling a giant jar of murky liquid from one of the shelves.

Claire shuffles past him, and the fridge is back to normal, the camera none the wiser.

 **2.**  


“Brad!” Claire says, too quiet to be a shout but louder than her usual speaking voice. “Come taste this.”

There’s a bowl of something yellow and puffy and creamy in front of her.

“What’s this, Claire?” he asks, coming closer. He’s been on a shoot all day, out in Brooklyn. It’s 6:30pm on a Friday and the test kitchen is basically empty, except for Claire, still here working on a recipe.

“I need you to taste this and tell me if the texture is off,” she says.

“Okay,” Brad says. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you. Pretend you have no idea. Just taste it,” she says.

Pretend? Claire always overestimated his expertise when it came to desserts.

“Is it gonna be spicy or sour?” he asks, just to watch that line of judgement form between her brows.

“It’s sweet, Brad. I’m trying to prove Chris wrong, okay? Come on, be my instrument,” she says, her smile a little mischievous now. Another look he can’t resist.

“Your instrument?” he dips a spoon into the mixture, it’s even lighter than he expected, and then puts the whole thing into his mouth.

Weirdly, it tastes like strawberry cream.

Claire is standing so close to him, eyes fixated on his mouth, and there’s no one in the office but them. He leans down and their lips meet, mouths open, he tastes Claire’s tongue and she tastes his, and then there’s a loud CLANG, like a heavy pot hitting the floor, and then pull apart instantly.

Claire is an arm’s length away by the time they look around for the source of the noises.

But there isn’t anyone. They’re still alone, the sun setting over Manhattan their only companion.

Brad’s heart is still racing.

Claire licks her lips, which must still taste like the cream. “Thanks,” she says, going back to the bowl. “I think I got it now.”

 **3.**  


The hotel they’re staying at in Denver, for the pie competition, isn’t too bad. Brad has seen NYC apartments that had way less space and fewer amenities than his room does. The lady at reception turns out to be an amateur baker who loves watching YouTube and fawns over Claire every time they pass by her counter.

The contest is like a rollercoaster. Brad thinks they’ll definitely win, but prepares himself for losing. Seeing how invested Claire is, he adjusts it to thinking they'll lose and preparing himself in case they don’t. When they finally get there he can’t let go of the confidence and optimism that they’ll win for sure, and Claire will be quietly ecstatic, and maybe they’ll celebrate, who knows.

It’s just them and one camera guy who has his own room on the other end of the hall.

So, of course, they end up losing. Massively, at that. Brad reminds himself he doesn’t care, never really actually cared, but Claire is devastated. Even more devastated than she lets on on camera, seriously crushed in a way the internet wouldn’t find endearing.

He can see the dark cloud swirling over her, remembers all the times she’s shied away from competition before, in New York, laughing off how competitive she gets.

He wants to remind her she’s still a professional baker and an accomplished chef even if some town in the heartland didn’t like her pies enough to crown them, but he knows it won’t do any good.

“Hey,” he says, as they’re walking down the hotel hallway, to their two adjacent rooms.

He’s about to make some dumb joke, just to get her to laugh at him and therefore show a glimmer of a real smile, when she turns and pushes him against the nearest wall, practically slamming him, if she were stronger and he was smaller.

She reaches up on her toes and kisses him, and Brad goes with it for a few seconds before they draw apart.

“Is this... a good idea?” Brad asks.

“What’s bad about it?” Claire says, still too stern, closed off, not her usual self.

“Uh... I just...”

“Your room is right there, Brad.” The implication in her tone is clear. They’re coworkers and they shouldn’t be doing this, and Claire has told him before that she doesn’t want anyone at work to know, but they’re not at work now. They’re not even in New York.

“This might be a bad idea,” Brad says, cringing at himself. How is he saying this? Why? What the fuck is wrong with him?

“What?” Claire echoes his own thoughts. “Suddenly you’re not interested?”

“I just... wouldn’t you rather go out? Get a drink at wherever the closest bar is? Call Carla and complain about how none of these people have taste buds?”

“No, Brad,” she says. “I’d rather do this.”

It’s more likely to make her forget, he realizes. Sleeping with Brad is her dirty little secret, her coping strategy when she can’t get what she wants, and she wants that medicine tonight.

“I don’t think I want to. Tonight.” Brad says, sliding away from her, back still against the wall.

“Got a headache?” Claire asks, the darkness of her mood intensifying.

“No, I’m just tired of this, being your guilty pleasure, late night junk food equivalent,” he says, shocked that the words actually left his mouth the second after they’re out.

Claire’s eyes go comically wide. “You’re suddenly concerned about your virtue?”

Brad stares at her, because they both know it’s not that. They both know he’s interested, always, but she sets the rules of where and when and he abides by them but sometimes, at least this one single time, he should be allowed to make some rules too.

“They hated my pies Brad. Both of my pies!” Claire says, face crumpling after a few minutes of silence.

“They didn’t hate them. But if you dial Carla I’ll bring the beers from my room and back you up on how fucked up everything is out here.”

“Nothing is fucked up,” Claire says, sighing. “Just me.”

Brad gets closer, kisses the top of her head, and walks away, to his room, to change and get his shit together, and grab some cheap beers before meeting her again.

 **4.**  


Sunrise at the Cape Cod house is beautiful. Claire’s told him so many times, but Brad is still not ready for it.

Everyone in the house is still asleep, but here they are, the two of them, standing in the yard, in the clothes they slept in.

Claire still needs to bake a pie, and Brad’s going to help her before the cameras wake up.

But for now they’re here, and Claire’s arms are around Brad, and as the sun rises she kisses him, slow and sweet, tasting faintly of toothpaste peppermint.

Brad kisses her back, and they stand like that, in the pleasantly cool summer morning, under windows any of their coworkers or Claire’s mother could look out of at any time.

 **5.**  


The Test Kitchen holiday party gets better and better every year. Their team keeps growing, their subscriber count keeps climbing, they’re putting out more and more shows, taking bigger risks, and it’s been paying off. Brad’s bank account isn’t complaining. The resources they get to throw office shindigs get bigger and better.

Well, it’s not a trip to Disneyland for the whole team, but it’s a budget for nicer champagne, nicer catering - although they cook most of the food themselves, because it couldn’t work any other way with a bunch of picky chefs involved - and better decorations for their off-camera holiday party.

They do it late on a Tuesday evening, the last day before they all go home for Christmas after they’re done shooting for the day. All the materials have been put away, the stations cleared, the fridge organized, the tools back in their cupboards.

They’ve been killing themselves lately, trying to record enough material to cover their vacation, all scheduled to go up automatically while they’re home with their families. Chris is drunk, Carla is laughing so hard the people on the street can hear her, Delaney is making faces at Brad’s eggnog, and Gaby is giving a very serious speech about wine, occasionally punctuated by hysterical bursts of laughter.

Brad is busy defending his eggnog when Claire sneaks up on him, inconveniently tiny as always, and slides her hand into his.

They’re standing here, surrounded by the entire office, and she’s doing... this.

“Oh,” Brad says, staring at their interlaced fingers.

“Come here,” Claire says with a smile, and Brad leans down, and they share a kiss. She tastes a little salty and spicy, like the deviled eggs Andy made.

They already have plans to see each other while they’re off work. Brad is supposed to come by the Cape Cod house on Christmas Day, maybe stay over. They’re keeping it casual, which Brad is fine with. Absolutely fine with. He’s in no rush.

Except apparently casual includes... this. In front of everyone.

Chris comes towards them, wraps his arms around them both. “Merry Christmas, you guys,” he says, slurring a little, before grabbing a sugar cookie from the tray behind Brad.

“Merry Christmas, Brad,” Claire says, her eyes twinkling with the colorful lights adorning the room.

“Merry Christmas, Claire,” Brad says, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy yuletide! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Four times Brad and Claire kissed in secret, and one time they didn’t](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538104) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




End file.
